Jeanne Dielman, 23, Quai du Commerce 1080 Bruxelles ★★½

I have respect for the intention and the middle finger to attention span and natural sense of narrative, as well as its place in film history, and it's fun to read and think about this piece, but, I'm not gonna pretend that I was fascinated or even really very interested as this was happening. I get it: we feel the slog of time, the banality of routine and the sheer emptiness of day to day living, the slow mental breakdown within the walls of domesticity, entrapped femininity, empty sex as its own routine. Life is often as dull as it is hard. But like ... I don't even remember the dropped potato!

I do think within the parameters of the form, it's a curious choice to have Jeanne so insulated, removed, and closed down, with the variation of her mental state seen in incredibly minute details like a missed button, some ruffled hair, and an even further blankness in her expression. It's true to life: we don't all walk around our homes with a smile, whistling, looking particularly pleasant. We wear our face for nobody. For me it would have been much more engaging to see a fully formed person degrade into a husk of a person over the three days, rather than a shell turn into a cracked shell.

Intriguing, boring, thought provoking, but c'mon "wow that didn't feel like three hours" dudes out there ... you're full of shit. Not rating because I wouldn't know how to.

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